


if i am not yours, i am no one's

by hamilton_taylorklaine



Category: Bollywood Movies, Kalank (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Bollywood, Comfort, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femdom, First Time Blow Jobs, Marking, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Secret Relationship, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Smut, Subspace, Teasing, Vaginal Sex, some really tiny mentions of abuse if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 22:37:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18600817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamilton_taylorklaine/pseuds/hamilton_taylorklaine
Summary: He is hers. In every sense of the word.roop/zafar





	if i am not yours, i am no one's

**Author's Note:**

> When the teaser first came out, I had this theory that Zafar was a slave, and I took that idea and ran with it, probably further than anyone asked for. Do I have any regrets? No. Am I ashamed? Only slightly.
> 
> She writes one fic a year, and her last two were from movies that weren’t even in English. Wow.

 

Every time he looks at her, he wonder why she chose to love him. Even now, on this rocky beach, under the cloudy sky, as the water gently and quietly laps against the ground. He watches her as she sits in silence, drawing, writing, he can’t particularly tell. Her hair falls around the edges of her face, whisps blowing back in the breeze, wrinkling her nose when it tickles. She is draped in blue and white and silver, her feet are bare and her toes curl against the coarse sand, and she is quiet and peaceful and serene, and God, he is so in love with her.

She looks up for a moment and meets Zafar’s eyes as he plays with a rock in between his fingers. And she smiles. Closed-mouthed, but it reaches her eyes, and to Zafar, it feels like the brightest ray of sunlight is shining down on him. He feels the love radiating off of her. He feels adored. Wanted. Seen. Human.

This is not how he feels most days. Wanted, but for his skill and ability, not for his soul. Seen, but only when sought out. For a purpose. For work. And never treated as a real person. Which, in the grand scheme of things, makes sense, since he was purchased as property by Roop’s family for slave labor and is owned by them. Legally. There is documentation which states that Roop is his legal owner. But since the beginning, he’s never felt like that around her. She’s never treated him like an object, like something that can be bought and sold and tossed aside when it’s no good anymore. She values the skill of his mind as much as, even more than the skill of his body. She listens to him, respects him, validates him, appreciates him, cares for him in the same way Zafar is required to care for her and everyone else. Roop has always been his favorite of the family for that reason. And maybe that’s why he fell in love with her. Or perhaps it was the way she speaks in addition to the words she says to him. How she always sounds happy to see him, even if she is flooded with tears. Or her wit, her playful attitude when she is happy, and the fire she spits when she is angry. Her passion, her energy, her intelligence beyond the world she lives in. Or her dark, hypnotic eyes, her smooth, perfect skin, her hair that frames her head like a halo. When he serves her, she always responds with a kind smile and a thank you, something he never gets from anyone else. When she kisses him, touches him in secret corners, she clings to him, wraps her whole body around his very existence, claiming him for herself. But her lips are sweet, her fingers are soft, her words to him are coated in honey. It’s as if she is holding something so precious, so priceless, that she will not give him up to anyone, for anything. And, even if asked, he would not leave.

He is hers. In every sense of the word.

And he wants her. As she tosses her hair to one side and adjusts her skirt, he is overwhelmed by the need to wrap her in his arms, touch her everywhere, love her endlessly. He can see a simple silver anklet, and he wants to worship at her feet, build her a shrine, follow her to the ends of the earth and back. She looks up at him again, and the way her earrings reflect the light make them look as if they were made from stars. She holds his eyes for longer this time, and there is one thought, one idea passing through Zafar’s head.

“What?” she asks, her eyes narrowing in confusion and suspicion.

“What are your thoughts on couples being intimate with each other before they marry?” This is the best way he can think to ask without going too in depth, without being too graphic.

She laughs and shakes her head. “You know it doesn’t bother me. We’re not married. How many times have we kissed?”

“No,” Zafar responds. “I mean. Fully. Intimate.” Words fail him now. But she seems to understand. She sits up a little straighter and looks down at her notebook, absentmindedly twirling the charcoal in her hands.

“Every couple has their own unique love story,” she says softly to the ground. “And each love story progresses at its own pace. If there is a place and time...if the natural progression of the love sees physical intimacy before marriage, then there must be a reason why the desire exists at all. It is the decision of the couple when and how to be intimate, and no one else should have any influence.” As the speech progresses, her cheeks grow warmer and pinker. She looks so small and innocent that Zafar almost wants to take it back. But then she looks at him again, through her eyelashes, her lips pressed together but her smile still prominent, and Zafar knows that she wants to. They never have, but surely the time has come.

He smiles back at her. After a beat, she squares her shoulders. “But for us, a place and a time is impossible to find.” She slams her notebook shut. Zafar fully towards her from the rock on which he is sitting.

“And why not?”

“Think about it for two seconds, Zafar,” she says with tension in her voice, turning towards him as well. “How much privacy are either of us even allowed? Wouldn’t it look suspicious if I took you away to my private chambers for hours? And what if you’re needed? What if we’re caught? Think of the repercussions, for both of us, especially you. You don’t think you’d be killed if you were caught in a compromising position with the master’s  _ daughter _ ?” She places a hand on his forearm. “As much as I want to be with you, I want it to be right. Not what we usually do, where we hold each other for the five minutes we can meet each other alone, and we have to stay fully clothed because there’s no time. I want us to have all the time in the world.” Her voice goes dreamy. “Candles, incense, oils, a room with soft sheets and lots of pillows, where no one is around and we can be as loud and as reckless as we want.” She sighs. “But it’s a fantasy. It’s not going to happen.”

Zafar laughs, his other hand coming up and stroking her forearm, over her sleeve, just past where her elbow bends. “You’re right. It’s a fantasy. No point in trying to make it come true. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be together.” He strokes her face with a finger. “I just want to be with you. No grand sets, no fancy tricks. Just us. Coming together as one.”

She blushes again and ducks her head, shaking out of his hold. “It’s too risky.”

“And you don’t think I would be willing to take that risk?” he says a little louder as she turns back towards the water. “You don’t think you would either? Listen to yourself, Roop, and think about your own heart. You love me. You know I love you.” He claps his hands together. “Let’s make it official.”

She laughs and shakes her head again.

“Now what?” Zafar asks, slightly annoyed. She turns just her head towards him.

“You think I’m clueless about men too. That I don’t know what men will say, what men will do to get a woman into bed with them. How much they will beg for it.”

“But you want to come into bed with me, right?” She smiles, cheeks turning rosy again, and nods, ducking back around. Zafar, an idea popping into his head, stands and bends in front of her. “You know,” his voice is low. He has to look up to see her face. “You own me.”

“I don’t need to be reminded that you are property.” Her tone turns suddenly cold. She firmly flips through the pages in her book trying to find her place. He lays his hands over hers, stopping her, and she meets his eyes, annoyed.

“What I mean is, you could make me do whatever you want and I couldn’t say no. You could request me to your bed, and I’d have to come. I wouldn’t even have to beg. I don’t need to.”

“So you’re saying you wouldn’t beg.”

“I would if you asked me to.”

“And what if I didn’t?” Her eyes are mischievous, her smile teasing. “Would you do it anyway?”

“I would do absolutely anything for you.”

She laughs once through her nose. “Okay. Do it. Beg.”

He grins and shifts his position so he’s on his knees. He folds his hands over her thigh and rests his chin on her knee. “Oh pleeeease,” he whines in a desperate, exaggerated voice, and Roop throws her head back in laughter.

“Please,” he says again when she starts to quiet down. “Just once. Let me hold you and kiss you and touch you and be with you the way lovers are supposed to be together. Let me worship you like the goddess you are. Let me love you the way you deserve. You say the word, and I will never bring it up again, but you say the word, and I will treat you like a queen. I will be a better lover than you could ever imagine. I will care for you, I will be gentle. I will be so good to you, I will be so good for you. Whatever you want, I will give to you. Just say the word. I will do anything for you. Anything you say. Please, madam. I’ll do anything.”

It had started off dramatic and showy, but the longer Zafar speaks, the more it rings true, and the more authentic it sounds, even if it’s still desperate. He needs her. He needs this. He will do anything,  _ anything _ she asks of him. And so the word, the name slips out, even though he knows she hates it. Her mother demands that she and the other women in the house be addressed “properly,” so Roop tolerates it to save face, but demands Zafar drop formalities when they’re alone.

But there’s something that changes in her face. Her smile gradually fades, but there’s still love in her eyes. It’s darker now. There’s more desire. Her lips are just barely parted. And Zafar thinks he might have won.

Roop lets out a slow breath and pets his hair. He relaxes, basking in her touch, closing his eyes, leaning his back into it, and then bowing forward. She chuckles low, leans forward and kisses the top of his head. She runs her fingers through a few more times before he lifts his head back up. Her smile is soft, but there is still the heavy gleam of desire in her expression. In her eyes.

“Tell you what,” she teases. “Tomorrow. Public and private. You do everything I say, exactly as I say. And only that. Nothing more. Nothing less.” Her smile grows wider and she shakes her head at the last few words, and Zafar feels like he’s won the grand prize. He smiles big and bright, and there is quiet laughter between them, as if they are sharing an incredible secret.

“Okay,” he says breathless.

“Okay?” She’s excited now.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

He giggles. He full-on  _ giggles _ . “Yes!”

“Yes…” Roop leans forward a little bit and turns her head slightly, as if she’s listening for something. And when Zafar realizes what she wants to hear, it’s his turn to blush. He ducks, pressing his forehead against her thigh, and she giggles, holding his head with both of her hands and kissing his hair repeatedly. Eventually, he lifts his head and smiles shyly up at her.

“Yes, madam.”

She grins and leans back on her hands. “You know,” she comments as Zafar unwinds himself from her and scoots back a bit. “I know I’ve always protested it, but now, hearing you, I like the sound of it.”

“Yeah?” he teases, wrapping his arms loosely around his knees. She nods once.

“Madam Roop,” she says low, with a light pop at the end. She slides a little further towards the edge of the rock and lifts her foot, slowly twirling it in front of Zafar’s face. “Temptress. Seductress. Keeper of men. Here for your heart, your mind, your body, and your soul.” She laughs lightly at the end. He watches the movement, momentarily transfixed before meeting her eyes.

“You say this as if you aren’t in possession of all of those things already.”

She presses her lips together, fighting a smile. Presses the ball of her foot against his face. He closes his eyes and exaggerates relishing in her touch, holds the limb close and kisses it, kisses down to her arch, and she yanks it back, yelping in surprise.

* * *

Zafar is pulled into a rarely used hallway before the day even begins. Roop. She holds him against her, grabs his sleeves so tight and in such a way that his arms bracket her waist, his body presses hers into the wall.

“Do you remember?” Her voice is breathy, husky. She is breathing hard. Zafar smiles down at her, a glint in his eye.

“It haunted me in my dreams.”

She smiles, satisfied. She lets go of his sleeves but gently runs her hands up and down his arms, leaning ever so closer.

“What are you going to do today?” It sounds too casual for the way Zafar’s heart is pounding.

“Everything you say.” Now he is running out of breath, and a magnet pulls him closer to her. Roop’s eyes suddenly turn dark.

“And you are still willing?” Still husky. Delicious. Zafar wants to drink the sound of her voice.

“Yes.”

Her lips curl up wickedly. She tilts her head up slightly. “Yes what?”

His lips part, edges cracking upwards. He presses them together, letting the words sit in his mouth, in his throat, for a fraction of a second longer. “Yes, madam.”

Her grin is wide and mischievous, but it shines like candlelight. She leans back further against the wall in excitement, and her hips jut forward into Zafar’s pelvis. He sucks in a breath--he can feel the heavy decoration on her skirt through his clothing, but he can also feel her heat, a promise she didn’t even make. She separates from him all too quickly.

“Good,” she says. “Now, can I have a kiss?”

He feigns surprise. “Madam is asking  _ me _ for permission?”

She slaps his cheek lightly, and he laughs a little too loud, but when he turns his head back, her smile is now bashful, head turned down to the floor. He presses his face close, invades her space, and she lifts her head, standing a little taller. He still has the advantage of height by just a few inches, but his eyes are wide in waiting. He will not move until she tells him to.

She squares her shoulders and makes her eyes cold and hard. But still, when her fingers touch the underside of his chin to bring him close, it’s as if she is holding something precious and delicate. She values him. She kisses him sweet, feather light. His hands brace the wall behind her, forcing himself to keep his distance when all he wants is to be as close to her as the universe will allow. But it’s not about him today. It’s about what he is willing to do for her. Anything. 

When she pulls back, she lets her lips hover close to his for a few long moments. She smiles, hums in contentment, then ducks under his arm and runs off.

He watches her scurry down the hallway, can hear the sounds of her jewelry echoing, her quiet laughter that bounces off the walls into Zafar’s ears, into his bones. He smiles at his feet and counts slowly to ten before following.

It starts off with small normal things. Getting something off a high shelf. Escorting her somewhere. Getting her food. Everything finished off with a “yes, madam.” And she still gives him her signature kind smile and thank you, now with something new buried in her eyes. Mischief. Mystery. Sex. It keeps Zafar on his toes and by her side.

She doesn’t really abuse her power much throughout the day. The only thing out of the ordinary is that she seeks Zafar out personally more often than not. So when someone else asks for him, she’s usually right there. And he looks at her, quietly seeking her permission. Which she always gives. But he waits for the single, small nod before he acts, and when he gets it, it feels like he’s been blessed.

People only begin to notice the closeness when, at nightfall, Roop sends a request for Zafar and Zafar only to come to her personal, private chambers. She will not have anyone else.

Her parents only make a casual side comment about Roop’s obvious preference for Zafar and how sweet it is. But the other slaves give him several confused, suspicious looks as he separates from the crowd. He feels his blood begin to boil as he ascends the stairs not just from the stares he receives, but from the anticipation of what’s about to happen. His mind races with images of what she’s planning, what she will make him do, and he’s already starting to get hot under his tunic. When he’s finally out of eyesight from everyone, he bolts down the hall and takes a few deep breaths to steady himself before knocking on her door.

“Zafar?” she calls from inside. Once again, it sounds too casual for the way Zafar’s heart is thumping. He clears his throat.

“Yes, madam!” he responds, his voice cracking and his face heating up as a result.

“Oh, good!” She doesn’t sound like she noticed. “Come in!”

Slowly, he opens the door, unsure of what to expect. Her room is tidy, as always, and she’s leaning over her vanity. When she sees him come in, she smiles brightly at him and caps a bottle of what appears to be perfume. Zafar’s heart flutters at the thought of her making herself smell good for tonight, for him, and he stands frozen in the doorway.

“Close the door,” she says, placing the bottle back on her vanity. Zafar’s heart leaps into his throat.

“Yes, madam,” he responds a little hoarse, following instructions. Roop looks both regal and childlike as she bounds over to the bed, her skirt fisted in her hands. She sits down, facing him again, smiling and scooting backwards towards the middle of the bed. She folds her skirt under herself and wraps her arms around her knees. It’s too innocent and sweet for the way he is about to defile her.

“Could you undo my braid?”

Or maybe not.

Zafar doesn’t respond for what feels like a long time. He can feel the confusion spread on his face, even if there’s a part of him that doesn’t want to make it seem obvious. But Roop doesn’t budge. She keeps her same pure smile and bats her big eyelashes at him, and it’s not like he had a choice in the matter anyway.

“O-Of course, madam,” he stutters. She sits up straighter and smiles wide.

“Thank you!” she says cheerfully and turns around. Zafar doesn’t move, processing. She finally has him alone, and she wants him to  _ fix her hair _ ? Why? She’s more than capable of doing this herself, and better than he could. Maybe there’s a reason behind it. Maybe there’s more to it. He wonders quietly to himself for a few moments before she turns her head.

“Are you coming?”

He stands up straighter and starts to walk forward. “Sorry, madam.” She smiles, satisfied, and turns back, gently folding her hands in her lap as Zafar sits on his knees behind her.

It’s a simple, basic braid cascading down her back, ending just below the hem of her cropped shirt. The ends must have tickled her waist throughout the day, smooth and bare. Slowly, he stretches out a single finger and runs across, starting towards the middle, passing over her spine. She sucks in a sharp breath and arches her back away from him. He pulls his hand away, a little surprised by her reaction. Maybe she’s sensitive there. He makes a mental note to keep that information safe for later.

The braid is held together with a single elastic band, and Zafar gently removes it, holding the braid midway with his other hand. Slowly, carefully, he undoes the rotations of her hair, trying not to hurt her. The style leaves her hair in loose waves, noticeable even in the dim light, and Zafar wants to drown in them. When the braid is completely undone, he gently runs his fingers through, smoothing everything and separating the three sections of hair even more. She sighs, long and dreamy. Her head gently leans back towards him, and he chuckles, simply playing with the ends of her hair now, relishing in its softness, that she’s finally letting him touch her, the first time all day.

He’s just about to separate from her when she slowly leans her head back up and gently tilts it to one side. He adjusts his position on his knees, getting comfortable, not sure what to make of this. But as he shifts, his eyes catch her bare back, her elongated neck, her nearly exposed shoulder. And Zafar realized the purpose of this, of all of this. Carefully, as quietly and secretly as he can, he shifts forward so his knees are resting just behind her, barely pressing up against her. His hands lower to her sides, high on her waist, where the fabric of her shirt ends. Holding his breath, he leans forward and presses a few soft kisses to her neck. She breathes in again, louder, deeper, and exhales long. Zafar swears he can hear her release a small noise, and he takes this as his cue, smiling against her skin for a moment before pressing his lips harder against her, traveling up a bit, then back down to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, the exposed skin just beyond the edge of her top. He can smell her perfume, floral and fruity. Zafar is dizzy from the scent.

She smacks him on the side of his head. Hard.

He shouts in pain and recoils, holding his cheek in surprise. Roop whips around and grabs his chin, forcing his hand down and his head up. “Did I say you could do that?” It’s ice cold. Vicious. In complete contrast to the soft image of her hair now flung over one shoulder. Her eyes are dark and angry. Zafar can feel his stomach drop.

“N-No,” he stutters, taken aback by everything, struggling to remember how to even speak.

“No?” Roop responds with even more edge to her voice. Her fingers dig into the fleshy parts of his cheeks as she drags his head that much closer. But it takes him too long to understand what she’s talking about, and when he finally realizes, he lowers his eyes in shame.

“No, madam.” His voice is small. His eyes are on the beaded border at the neck of her shirt, and when she notices this, she shoves his chin upward so he’s practically looking at the ceiling. He can almost feel her nails against his skin. He is a little terrified.

“You think you can look at me like that now? You think you can do what you want? Kiss me, touch me, take me without my permission?” She yanks him forward, and he makes another small noise of surprise. Her eyes hold his forcefully. They are practically nose to nose. When she speaks again, it is quieter, but laced with venom, almost hissing. Her words cut through Zafar like a knife. “You are not doing what I am asking of you. You are doing what I command of you. Nothing more. Nothing less. What is so hard to understand about that?”

Where did this come from? He thought this was the plan, this was the goal. To finally be together. So why is she so angry? Zafar is so taken aback by this sudden change that he only makes a couple of small noises in an attempt to respond. She lets out an annoyed groan, her face twisting in disgust, and shoves his head down, practically throwing him to the side on the bed.

“Useless,” she mutters, loud enough for him to hear as he lays on his side. Her weight disappears, and the bed rises slightly. “If you want anything done, you have to do it yourself.”

Zafar is furious. He is destroyed. The one person who can bring light into his dark existence has suddenly sent him into the deepest of pitch black nights. Because of his touch, his affection, his love. It doesn’t make any sense. He is gutted. He is fuming. He wants to run, to go somewhere where no one can find him, curl himself up and disappear. He wants to tear his hair out, tear these sheets, the entire mattress into pieces. He wants to call her out on her bullshit, accuse her of heinous abuse, smack her, shove her, beat her black and blue. Demand an explanation. Beg for one. In this state, he’s not sure which will work.

His head is muddled, but he pushes himself up on his knees and seeks her out. But something in him makes him stop before he can begin to speak. She is standing in front of her vanity, fixing small strands of hair. The two of them are positioned in such a way that, even as Zafar sits behind her, he can see her expression reflected back at him in the mirror. She could meet him with just a shift of her eyes. But she doesn’t. She hums quietly, shifting the strands around, moving them over her shoulder to expose the tied threads holding her top up. And, without batting an eye, she slowly, painstakingly slowly, begins to untie them.

Once again, the ground under Zafar shifts, and he suddenly understands everything. This is all a game to her. It was designed to be a game for them. She is seeking pleasure in his servitude. He was berated because he disobeyed. Exposing her neck like that, it was a test. His mind clouds up again, but differently. He is growing impatient as he continues to watch her slowly untie herself, avoiding his gaze. But she is, has always been, the only one in the house who he doesn’t mind satisfying her requests. He will bend for her will, succumb to her desires, whenever asked, willingly and without hesitation. He knows this now. He feels the shame for taking so long to realize. And as she undoes the last of the threads and peels her top off, exposing her bare chest in the mirror, and carefully folds it, he holds back the urge to take her into his arms, run his hands across the expanse of her skin, kiss her everywhere he can reach. She has been silent this entire time, so he has no choice but to wait. The urge gets easier to suppress as she tosses her hair back behind her, fixes her necklace, slips her bangles back on, and wraps her scarf around her lower back, draping it over her forearms in a display of provocative elegance. Zafar still wants to reach out for her, but the feeling in his muscles, in the pit of his stomach, the urgency is gone. He is relaxed. His hands have subconsciously folded themselves in his lap, but they are not tense. The world outside is foggy, but everything in this room, everything in Zafar’s being is so clear.

He is hers. In every sense of the word.

She carefully turns around and finally meets his waiting eyes. Her smile has returned, with a heavy, mischievous look in her eyes. Her hands brace the table behind her, hips out, back straight, chest up. Zafar keeps glancing down at her perfectly taut breasts without even noticing, and he keeps on breaking his own trance and forcing his eyes back up to hers. It’s a back and forth battle he fights for too long, and Roop just laughs quietly at him, tilting her head to the side, her hair barely covering her face.

“Now,” she says low, drawn out, and Zafar feels frozen to his spot yet simultaneously swept away by the single word. There is a phantom sensation of him lifting off the bed, but he does not move.

“Are you going to listen?” Her head stands straight. “Are you going to be good?”

Zafar can only nod dumbly. But Roop’s eyes widen slightly and her head arches upwards, still watching him. Zafar shakes his head to come back. Now he knows what she wants.

“Yes, madam.”

Her smile grows as she leans back against the vanity. She licks her lips with just the tip of her tongue and beckons him forward with a single finger.

“Come here.”

Zafar feels like he’s floating as he pushes himself up and slowly walks towards her. His jaw is slack, his eyes continuing to play games as they graze all over her body. But this time she basks in it, her smile harder to fight. When he is close to her, a bit of space still between their bodies, she sucks in a breath and lightly touches his chest with a few fingers, stopping him. Her bracelets clack together, and the sound reverberates in the otherwise quiet room. Roop lets the breath out.

“Tell me honestly,” she says, looking at where her fingers lay against him. Her shoulders tense up. “Did I hurt you?”

He follows her eyes down and sighs, his mouth twisting. The longer it takes him to answer, the less of a surprise it is to her when he finally responds. “A little.”

Her shoulders drop as she lets out a pained noise, shaking her head once. “I’m sorry,” she says, broken. Her hand presses firm into his chest as she sits up and leans their foreheads together. “I love you.” She shakes her head. “I’m not good at this.”

“Yes you are,” he responds quietly. She’s still not looking at him, so he takes a small step forward, keeping his body separated from hers but seeking the comfort. When she breathes in, small, sharp, he freezes. She holds the breath for a beat, but she doesn’t push him away. So he stays close to her, breathes in slowly, and they breathe out together.

“I am yours,” he says quietly. “I always have been, and I truly believe I always will be. However you see me. Your friend, your lover, your beloved, your one, your sun, moon, stars, even just your slave.”

“But I don’t see you like that…” she whispers, and Zafar moves to hold her waist and pull her close to him, but he thinks twice and keeps his hands by his sides.

“The way you spoke to me,” he continues. “Did something to me. I can’t explain it. I feel dizzy, but I’ve never felt more grounded. I’ve never felt like I belonged anywhere before, except with you. I belong with you. I belong to you. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than to make you happy tonight. To be good to you, to be good  _ for _ you. I’m going to try my best. I don’t think I could live with myself if I made you upset again. But you know, I will do absolutely anything for you. I will become anyone, anything you want me to be. For you.” He smiles. “Just say the word.”

She smiles, reaches out and cups his face. His fingers twitch towards her again, but he balls them into fists to restrain himself. She clicks her tongue and reaches down for his wrists, bringing his hands up to her hips. He keeps his fists closed, and she shakes her head, wrapping her arms securely around his neck and jostling his upper body a bit.

“Touch me.” It’s loving but firm. He chuckles and slowly unfurls his hands.

“Yes, madam.”

She smiles, and leans in so their noses are touching.

“Touch me like you mean it.”

It’s a whisper, and both their smiles have suddenly dropped. “Y-Yes, madam,” he stutters out, unsure of what exactly she means. But he presses his hands against her clothed hips and slowly slides them up to her bare waist, where they stay. Roop hums, content.

“Good.” She smiles. “Now.” She takes a step forward. Presses her body flush against his. She is warm and strong and her breasts press against him, and his body goes rigid and his mind goes blank.

“Kiss me.”

He smiles and leans down, whispers his “yes, madam” just before pressing his mouth to hers.

They are slow, gentle, deliberate. Her hands hold the back of his neck, run over his shoulders, his upper arms. His remain on her waist, his thumbs slowly running over the sides of her ribs. She makes a small noise in the back of her throat, and Zafar’s knees almost buckle at the sound.

“Hold me,” she breathes against his mouth. He responds with a whine of his own and wraps his arms around her waist, hands spreading across her lower back, pressing her body against him. Her skirt is heavy still, but this is nothing compared to the heavy weight of her body, the heat coming from her that makes the air in the room thick and stifling. She breathes out sharply as their momentum speeds up, gives a silent command with the gentle pass of her tongue over his lips. His fingers dig into her back, his heart beating a mile a minute as he obliges and lets her in. Her own fingers dig into his shoulder blades, come up and thread into his hair, and he takes this as permission to slide their tongues together. His breathing stops for a moment, a tiny scared voice in the back of his head worrying that she will get angry again. But she doesn’t. She slides her tongue along his, creating a pace that he quickly matches. The fire begins to calm when, after a long while of this, their tongues retreat, muscles are not as tense, breathing slows. But they still lock lips gently, quiet kissing noises echoing through the room.

Roop hums again and smiles. “You’re doing so well.” Her voice has taken on a new tone that Zafar can’t quite place. It’s teasing and mysterious and dominating, but it’s also comforting and loving. It makes his heart do backflips. “I think you deserve a reward.”

And this makes his heart stop.

His eyebrows shoot up, but she just smiles, giving nothing away. Without breaking eye contact, she takes a small step away from him, gently unwraps his arms from around her, and places his hands on her breasts.

They are small, sure. But Zafar has never touched a woman like this. No woman has let him touch them like this. Certainly Roop has never let a man touch her this way. It truly does feel like a prize, and he doesn’t even register the way his eyes widen, his jaw slacks, a look of pure disbelief surely all over his face, until Roop giggles. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his head, to tear his eyes away from the image of his hands on her breasts, convinced his eyes are playing tricks on him, or that he’s dreaming. But when he finally looks up, Roop is smiling, warm and bright, and she cards her fingers through his hair a few times before kissing him again, and Zafar has won the lottery.

He is delicate with them. They stay separated enough that Zafar’s hands are not squished between their bodies. His fingers slowly rotate around, nervous to put too much pressure and hurt her. He holds them, feeling their weight. His thumbs run over her nipples, and at this, she lets out a surprised but gleeful moan and arches up into his touch. His teeth bare for a moment against her mouth in satisfaction and he continues, feeling them harden. Her body quivers a little at the sensitivity, but she keeps herself against him, and Zafar feels parts of his own body begin to stiffen.

She cups the back of his head and guides him down, his lips moving with her across her cheek, past her jaw, and down her neck. She holds him there, leaning her head back and breathing carefully. His kisses are soft against the underside of her jaw, but get firmer as he travels down her sensitive throat. His tongue darts out occasionally, his teeth baring to just barely graze her perfect skin, and she moans high and sharp, and this is all the affirmation he needs.

He nips at her bare shoulder before she guides him further down, over the cool metal of her necklace, down to her soft breasts. His hands move down her stomach to her hips, and his knees bend so he can get a better, more comfortable angle. His lips become gentle again, small, tentative, careful kisses here and there, but she grows impatient and gently pushes his head in deeper, closer to her. He lets out a breath as his head turns, face slipping away, in between her breasts. He lets himself stay there for a few moments, closing his eyes, breathing her in, her scent that is concentrated right here, so intoxicating. Her fingers brush through his hair again, gently, relaxing him, and her nose buries into his hair, lips ghosting over the top of his head. This gives Zafar new energy, and he presses his nose, then his lips, hard into the dip between her breasts. He travels down, almost underneath, then back up, licking and then sealing his mouth over her nipple.

She lets out a noise, a hum, a sigh, a moan, a combination of them all. He can feel the ends of her hair just tickling his fingers as her head falls back and her breathing gets faster. Her hands grip his hair now, pressing him in even closer, pressing her body deeper into him. One of Zafar’s hands slides back up her waist and stomach and firmly holds her other breast. He is still gentle, but he lets himself grip her, feel her, touch her nipple again, and another moan rips through Roop’s teeth as if she’s trying to hold herself back. But Zafar’s tongue is constant against the sensitive nub, firm, the tip circling the edge, flicking as it hardens again in his mouth. And Roop melts against him, her nails lightly scratching his scalp, and he begins to shake himself.

Roop lets him treat the other side the same way, and she coaxes him through it with constant strokes of his hair. The noises he releases against her skin send shockwaves down to her toes, and they struggle to hold each other up. When it becomes too much, when she’s ready to move on to something new, she lightly tugs at his hair, and he pulls off with a slick pop. He shakes his hair out of his face and looks up at her. His face is pink, lips red, his mouth shiny and wet from saliva. His breathing is ragged. And his eyes are wide, blown, dark, almost black, and they look up at her with wonder and awe and the most genuine eagerness, the purest desire to please. 

To Roop, he has never looked more beautiful.

Smiling, she strokes his face with her thumbs, tucks his hair behind his ears. He blinks slowly. In this moment, he has never felt more wanted, desired, loved.

“Take me to the bed.”

His brain snaps back to attention and he grins. Quickly, without thinking twice, he wraps his arms around her legs and lifts her clean into the air.

She squeals, loud, but it quickly dissolves into giddy laughter. Her fingers lock at the base of the back of his head, her scarf falling off her, and she is so giggly that Zafar can’t help but smile and watch her shoulders shake as he walks over to the bed and gently lays her down. She shifts backwards, towards the pillows, pulling Zafar up with her. He follows her, crawling on hands and knees, hovering above her, their grins identical and wicked.

“We have to be quiet,” she whispers, but with a high, frantic tone. “You can’t do stuff like that!” But she is still laughing, musical, her smile wide, her eyes wild. Zafar blushes anyway and ducks his head.

“Sorry, madam.”

She grabs the back of his head and pulls him in for a hard kiss. But just as quickly, she pushes him away and reaches for the edge of his tunic, sitting up.

“Take this off.”

He nods, and in a fraction of a second, it’s gone, discarded on the floor.

Roop sits up completely, bracing her hands behind her, eyeing him up and down. Zafar is as perfectly sculpted as a man can be. His chest is broad, shoulders strong, abdomen defined with sharp lines. Veins wind down his arms, muscles bulging. He could crush her, suffocate her, break her body clean in half if he wanted to. But she knows that’s the last thing on his mind. He is powerful, but he is gentle. He will be gentle, especially if she asks.

She watches his chest move up and down with his breathing, the muscles in his arms twitch as he visibly grows impatient but continues to wait. She swears she can see his fingers shake in anticipation as they rest on his knees. But her eyes drift back up to the dips in his abdomen, an urge to run her tongue over them coursing through her blood.

And then she realizes she can.

Carefully, she pushes herself up on her knees and places her hand on Zafar’s chest, right over his heart. It races, the beat matching her own, pounding in her ears. She can feel his eyes follow her, watching her face, her every movement. She tries to keep her breathing steady as she slides across, around the pectoral, down, slowly, to the group of muscles that wait for her. And now it’s impossible to ignore.

“Lay on your back.”

Zafar’s breath seems to shake as it releases. “Yes, madam.” And they turn themselves around so Zafar is against the pillows and Roop is above him. Her skirt limits her movement, so she must keep her legs shifted over on one side of his body, but she braces her hands on either side of his torso and kisses him lightly. She breaks it before it can go anywhere, and she kisses his jaw, his neck, licks her way down to his shoulder, and finally, his perfect chest. She can feel Zafar breathe in deeply and arch up into her as he reacts to the sensation. As she travels across, down, slow, anywhere she can go, his fingers slowly trail across her back, carefully pass through her hair. She smiles against his skin, her teeth baring and lightly scratching across his skin, and he hums low in his throat, tangling her fingers in her hair for real. She adds this to her arsenal, lightly dragging her teeth across his chest, nipping in places, licking her way down and darting her tongue through the dips in the muscles of his abdomen. Zafar whimpers above her constantly, silently asking for more and then never getting enough. She swears she can hear her name pass quietly through his lips, and she knows she is right because she can feel his body freeze up. He has not called her by her name since they started, and she knows exactly what’s going on in his head right now, whether or not she will allow it. So to ease his mind, she travels back up, picks a spot on his chest to kiss and lick and suck and bite. Zafar tenses again only in surprise, but he somehow melts into the bed and arches up into her at the same time, the noises starting up again, his hands knotted tight in her long hair.

When she picks up on an uncomfortable tone in his cries, she stops, lightly kissing her way back up his neck to his mouth. She pulls back slowly, calculating the move, watching the serene smile spread over his face, his eyelids still closed. Her eyes drift down to his chest, a bruise starting to form on his chest where her mouth just was. It’s bright red, with just a little hint of purple already. She lightly traces her finger around her handiwork, and Zafar quivers and moans in a twisted combination of pain and pleasure. She smiles and leans over him, her hair falling over him, tickling his chest and neck. He shakes again, smiling.

“Mine,” she whispers. His smile grows wider, and he sinks deeper into the bed, basking in the feeling of hearing this.

“Yours.” It sounds far away, like he is here but his mind is somewhere else. She runs a hand through his hair, across his face, and when he finally opens his eyes back up, he blinks rapidly, and then smiles even wider, as if he believed it all was a dream. She returns it and kisses his mouth, his nose, his forehead, and then sits up.

“Help me with this.” She shifts uncomfortably as she tries to pull her skirt down, and he sits up fully, carefully pulling the heavy cloth down when she lifts her hips. As he slides it down her legs and carefully places it on the floor, she mutters to herself as she takes an earring off. Before he can stop himself, he grabs her wrist. She looks at where he holds her, a large silver earring in her hand, and looks back up at him, her brows furrowed in confusion. There might be annoyance and anger there, he’s not sure. Or maybe he’s just paranoid. But he licks his lips and speaks.

“Madam,” he barely breathes, holding her gaze. “Can I...make one request?”

Her expression softens just a bit, and her shoulders relax. She keeps her eyes on him, but nods once, the movement small. She is still confused, but more curious. He looks everywhere but her eyes, but it’s as if some invisible force pulls him back.

“Could…” He can barely get the words out. “Could you...keep the jewelry on?” He is tense, something deep inside him terrified of her wrath. “Please?”

She breathes out slowly, smiles small, but warm. She looks down, in thought, playing with the earring in her hand. Zafar lets go of her wrist, and after another long moment of consideration, she takes out the other earring.

“These will get caught in my hair,” she explains as Zafar’s heart sinks, leaning over and setting them on the side table. She slips off her bangles as well. “And I worry these will scratch you.” When those are off and piled up, she sits back up.

“But everything else…” Zafar’s eyes drift down to the diamonds studded in silver that are still wrapped around her neck. She shifts again, facing him fully, and swings a leg over his body. Her knees are up, close to her chest, and she tantalizingly runs her hands over her bare legs. Zafar’s eyes drift further down to her feet, where she still sports the same silver anklets she had yesterday. He desperately wants to touch her small feet, the delicate band, but just when he begins to reach out, her feet slip behind him, her legs loosely wrapping around his hips. She shifts her body forward, pressing their pelvises together, crossing her feet behind him. He can feel the cool silver of her anklets against his lower back, and even though she is still clothed, barely, he can feel her center, hot and a little wet. Zafar’s hands are limp on the bed. Roop’s arms wrap around his neck.

“For you.”

Again, Zafar feels blessed.

She presses their foreheads together, their noses. She tilts her head and hovers her lips close to his, breathing him in, breath washing over him. He leans up, getting as close as she’ll let him.

“Touch me,” she finally whispers. Zafar gulps, his hands shaking a little as he brushes her hair back from her face.

“Where, madam?”

She sighs and shifts her body closer to press against his. The sounds dissolves into an impatient whine, and she rotates her hips once.

“ _ Everywhere _ .”

He cups her face and kisses her hard. His fingers dig into the skin of her back, touch her breasts again, hold her hips on the edge of her underwear and pull their bodies flush together. She claws at his shoulders and pulls on his hair. Zafar growls against her mouth, and she breathes over him, pulling his head down to her neck.

“Here,” she commands. “Kiss me right here.” He hums into her neck, kissing and licking and biting and sucking marks as she had done to him. “Yes,” she sighs in response, her head falling back. “Leave your mark on me. Show the world that I am yours, and yours only.”

Something inside Zafar breaks at this. He is hers, yes. But she is his, just as much. He holds her tight, hands spread across her back, gripping her as if she is his life force. His nails scratch down her smooth skin, he grips her thighs, holds her hips, her waist, her ass, pulls at the elastic band of her underwear and snaps it back. She gasps at this and cries out even louder. He shifts to the other side of her neck, then down to her collarbone, above her necklace, below, on the tops of her breasts. One hand finally settles on her thigh, slightly elevated due to her still-bent legs, just shy of the curve of her ass. The other presses against her lower back, right above the hem of her underwear.

He spends a long time biting red marks into her skin, but the passion is still high that he wonders to himself how his energy is holding on. When lack of oxygen finally begins to affect his consciousness, he stops, pulling back. For a second, she looks as if she’s been attacked by an animal.  _ And maybe she has _ . The thought passes through his head in an instant, but then her hands are on his jaw, pressing their foreheads together, and she is giggling like crazy and she is not in pain, and the thought disappears from his head.

He is looking at her with love and wonder, hands sliding slowly up her back again, when she speaks. “Lay down again,” she says with a smile, unwinding her legs a bit. “I want to try something.”

Zafar lets out an exaggerated, exhausted sigh. “Yes, madam.” He falls back, arms spread. She giggles, runs delicate fingers down his chest and stomach. Tugs his pants down as he shimmies out of them and kicks his legs like a child. Runs more tentative hands over his thighs, his hips, the prominent bulge in his underwear. Zafar tenses, breathes sharply, uneven, but still arches his pelvis up into her touch. His eyes are screwed shut, hands resting at his sides. Roop holds her breath as she slowly and carefully slides his underwear down and off. His hips lift in the air to help her. Her eyes are immediately drawn to his cock, red, thick, raised slightly above his body. It looks hard. Firm. It looks like he’s uncomfortable. Roop’s fingers gravitate towards him without even thinking, but his body shivers as her hands merely creep along the skin around it. He fists at the air, making tiny strained noises.

“Please,” he says under his breath. She feels her stomach flip over at this, and she smiles, lets out a laugh, makes a small “hmm?” sound in question.

“Please,” Zafar says again, stronger, louder. “Whatever you plan on doing to me, please, just do it, I need you, I need…I…” He cuts himself off, not wanting to ask for too much. But she smiles wider and kisses the base of his cock, where it meets his pelvis, keeping her hands flat against him. He lets out another whine, and she can feel his fingers at the ends of her hair, and she can feel him pulling back again.

“It’s okay,” she sighs against him, and the vibrations of her words reverberate through each and every nerve in his body, and he moans from somewhere deep within him. Her lips travel up, the smallest of kisses, and Zafar stops breathing, but his hands sink into her hair, hold on tight as her mouth wraps around the head and everything else disappears.

Nothing matters now except for this. But they are still slow and careful, Zafar still worried about hurting her and asking for too much from her, and Roop, if she was being honest, trying not to choke. She has obviously never done anything like this. She never planned on this. But she thinks back to conversations with married friends who have tried different ways of pleasing their husbands in the bedroom. She always tuned those conversations out, as they were never applicable to her, but now she scrambles for details and advice.

_ Keep it steady in your hand _ .

Her hand wraps loosely around the base. Zafar sighs above her.

_ Keep moving, and use your resources. _

She tilts her head and swirls her tongue experimentally. Zafar’s hands tighten in her hair. She smiles.

_ Teeth could hurt. _

She pulls them back in. Shuts her eyes and moves down, taking more of him in.

_ Don’t hurt yourself. Use your hand to work with what’s left. _

Another experiment, a twist of her hand around the base. Zafar cries out sharply and subconsciously thrusts his hips up into her mouth.

_ He could hurt you too. Keep him calm. _

She braces her other forearm, holding his hips down firmly. Zafar breathes fast, harsh, surrounding small moans as she continues moving up and down slowly, moving further down each time. But she knows he is relishing in the control. She knows he loves it.

_ And don’t forget to breathe _ .

She breathes through her nose, sighing, sending more shockwaves up Zafar’s body. He cries out once more, twisting her hair. His legs had fallen open at some point, bending at the knee, surrounding her. Their rhythm is steady, Roop ducking as far as her gag reflex will let her, her hand moving and twisting the rest to make up for the difference. Zafar is a mess above her, moaning and groaning and not thinking about anything but her hot wet mouth around his most sensitive area. Yet somehow he is able to keep his movements in check, keep his hips down, obey, make her comfortable when he is dizzy with pleasure.

She gets calmer, and as a result, moves faster. Especially now, his sounds are harder to keep down, louder and more desperate as the pressure in his body builds. He sees stars behind his eyelids, but he peeks out and sees her head between his legs, and the air is thick and the room is on fire and Zafar can’t keep his composure for much longer.

“Roop…” His muscles tense, he is pulling her hair, he is momentarily worried he will rip it out of her skull. But he doesn’t. Because she slows down, breathes more evenly, removes her mouth and rests her head against his thigh, getting her breathing back. Zafar’s cock is now practically standing at full attention, even redder, now wet and shiny. Roop’s lips match almost perfectly. Zafar’s own breathing is ragged and unsteady, but he strokes her hair gently and tilts her chin up towards him.

“M-Madam?” His voice is hoarse and scratchy. She slowly opens her eyes to meet his.

“C-Can I make another request?” Every time he asks this, he feels like a small child, terrified of being denied, of being reprimanded for asking for something in the first place. But she smiles, a little delirious, and her hand circles his thigh, pressing her lips to the inside. They are plump, and just as wet as he’d anticipated they would be.

“Kiss me.” He licks his lips. “Please.”

Without pausing, she pushes herself up and crawls up his body, her eyes heavy, her smile seductive. She leans down, bracing her elbows on either side of his head, pressing her whole body against his and kissing him deeply. She tastes faintly of salt, and something clicks in the back of his head that this is himself he is tasting on her lips, and he groans against her. His tongue slides past her lips as his hands wrap around her waist and secure themselves behind her back. She runs her hands through his hair and slowly rotates her hips in a circle against him. He moans into her mouth--he swears he can feel a wet spot in her underwear, and why is she still wearing anything, he needs her naked now. She carefully pushes herself up, forcing his arms to unwind themselves, and her hands rest on his torso, her hips still moving slowly, sensually. There is nothing but the sound of breathing for what feels like a long time.

“Undress me” she finally says. He mumbles a yes, and they move at the same time, Roop up on her knees, Zafar leaning his body up, his hands immediately at her underwear, pulling it down. Their eyes never leave each other, even if removing this last piece of clothing becomes awkward. But she is finally bare in front of him, clean shaven, surrounding him, unashamed. Her hands rest lightly on her thighs, and Zafar needs to know what she is thinking.

“Switch with me.” Zafar, in some confusion, pushes himself up to a full seated position. Roop leans down, and Zafar’s hand comes to her lower back, and they both turn, watching each other as Roop lays down, Zafar guiding her. Her legs open, inviting him to settle between them. His hands barricade her head. She is still.

“Kiss me.”

He does without question, a gentle, sweet press of his lips against hers. She kisses him back for a few moments before twisting away.

“No,” she says, lightly pushing him away. He sits up, confused, and she pushes him back further so he is sitting on his knees, much like she had before. She scoots back just a bit, leans up on her elbows, and bends her knees, her feet flat on the bed. Like a magnet, his eyes are drawn down in between her wide spread legs, where she is shiny and pink and soaking wet. She is beautiful, and he is dizzy again, and he can think of nothing but how much he wants her.

Slowly, she runs a hand down her body, all the way down, and one single finger slides over her lips, and Zafar watches in amazement, not blinking, not moving, not breathing, not thinking anymore.

“Kiss me right here.”

For a long, heavy moment, the world stops spinning. And then Zafar’s mind races. How? Her lips down there are vertical, the angle would be awkward. She is wet, much wetter than the lips on her mouth would ever be. Wouldn’t it all be uncomfortable, awkward, painful? But the magnetic pull is stronger, and his hands slide under the bend of her knees, his head lowering towards her intoxicating heat. Her fingers, which had continued to stroke over herself, disappear, and her hips twitch up toward him. She is open, waiting, impatient. She smells of sex and peaches. It completely clouds his brain, and his only desire now is to put his mouth on her.

He kisses her stomach first, gentle, right below her belly button. She sighs, petting the back of his head with one hand, but lets him take his time and care for her like this. He kisses her thighs, up by her knees, and slowly making his way down, lightly nipping and scratching his teeth over her skin. She shivers, whines, her hips twitching upwards again, her fingers clawing at his hair but still allowing him to move freely, even if she is growing antsy. But so is he. And he has to force himself to pause, with his face centimeters from her, to absorb the sight of her, breathe her in, before gently pressing his mouth against her.

It is awkward at first--it doesn’t line up like kissing her mouth does. But going horizontal would be even more painful, and she presses herself more into him despite the awkwardness, pushes his face deeper, harder against her. So he makes it work. Lets her lips slide against his, gently sucking on the sensitive skin. Slowly runs his tongue across, up and down, around, in between the folds.

This, he quickly learns, seems to be the best approach.

Roop’s hand scratches his scalp at each tiny movement of his tongue, as if all of the nerves in her body have made their way down here. Zafar is almost scared to continue, scared to even breathe this close to her. But the hot air seems to make her shake as well, breathy moans constantly coming from her like music. Her thighs surround his head, legs over his shoulders, wrapping around him, feet crossed at the ankles, heels resting on his back. He can feel her anklets again, icy in contrast to the heat radiating from everywhere else around her, and his breathing skips for a moment, a small noise of pleasure letting itself out.

And Roop  _ loves _ this. She arches her back, hips pressing even more against him, and Zafar practically devours her, holding her thighs and licking deep into her. She sounds like she’s almost in pain, but her body melts into the bed, and her noises are surrounded by chants, mantras. “Zafar.” “Yes.” “Don’t stop.” He obeys. Even if he had a say in the matter, he would obey.

There is a small nub above her opening, just barely exposing itself. After a while, when Zafar cracks one eye open, he is overcome by curiosity to touch it, to see what it would do to her. He slowly slides up, gliding his tongue flat over her folds, lips lightly brushing over the area. Roop gasps, freezing.

“What was that?” she asks. “What happened, what did you do.” She’s breathless, a little delirious, maybe even a little scared and angry. Zafar blinks, but he doesn’t pull back more than a few centimeters before Roop is shoving his head back towards her.

“Do it again.”

He smiles, lets out a wicked breath over the nub. Flicks his tongue against it once. Rotates the tip around it. Roop chokes out the loudest moan of the night so far. So much for quiet.

He sucks on the nub for mere moments before she tugs him back by the hair.

“Too much,” she says, breathing hard. But she guides his head back down to her center, and he builds a rhythm, tracing patterns against her lips and her walls, his nose brushing against the nub, occasionally licking it. This is enough, it seems, as she rocks against his face, her moans getting higher in volume and pitch. The pressure inside her builds up to crescendo, and after some time, she quiets. Zafar opens his eyes, looking up at her, and she is the image of sin. Her long hair is fanned around her, body shiny with sweat, back arched, head towards the ceiling. She still shakes, chest heaving as she struggles to breathe, and Zafar slows down just a hair.

But then she lifts her head and meets his eyes. His hair is a mess, clumped together in places from her wetness. His cheeks are red, everything hot. The kajal,  _ god _ , the kajal around his eyes is just a little smudged but it turns his brown eyes black, and he closes them and sucks on her clit one more time, and she disappears from reality.

He pulls off and bends back down, gently licking her through her pleasure. His beard scratches her in the best way possible, and it sends her further down, over the edge. He licks up the white that she releases, thick, but tasting of peaches, and he swallows it all down. She pulsates, screams, the feeling washing over her, crashing against her, into her like strong waves against the shore. Zafar matches her pace as she rides it out, chanting his name over and over like a prayer, eventually, gradually slowing the roll of her hips, releasing her death grip on his hair, twitching from the sensitivity.

Zafar gives a few more gentle licks across her lips, cleaning her up, and when her legs give out and drop from around him, he kisses her thighs again, her stomach, slowly trailing his way up her body. He glances up again, and she is spent, but watches him through heavy eyes, barely open, a sated smile gently resting on her lips. A weak hand comes up and holds Zafar’s face, her thumb lightly brushing at the kajal that’s still smudged under his eyes but makes him look even more godlike than he already does. He smiles, heaves his body up the rest of the way and crowds her space, pressing his nose to hers and causing her to giggle deliriously before he kisses her.

It’s slow. He lets her lead and set the pace as she sits in her exhaustion. She lazily licks her way into his mouth and then falls back against the pillows.

“You taste like rotten fruit,” she says with a frown, wrinkling her nose.

“Really?” Zafar teases with a glint in his eyes. He drops to his elbows, surrounding her so she can’t escape. “Because I think I just had the best meal of my life.”

She laughs, wipes at his mouth. “You’re all wet.” He just hums in contentment and wipes his lips all over her cheek.

“Zafar!” she shouts in surprise, but laughs wildly as he continues to rub his face against hers. Her laughter turns into a long sigh of pleasure as his movements change to kisses along her jaw and the curve of her neck.

“Is this okay, madam?” he asks, falling back into character, his voice low. She sighs again, softer.

“Yes,” she breathes, and the sound of her voice is dizzying, fogging up Zafar’s head once again. She tilts her head back to give him more room, but after a short while of this, she gently pushes at his shoulder.

“No, wait, I want you to kiss me for real.”

And so he leans back up and does so.

“But be gentle,” she adds with a whisper, and, with a quiet “yes, madam,” his kisses to her lips turn feather light. He lets Roop guide him, following her speed, her hands as they lightly touch his cheeks, his back, settle on his waist. It feels like an eternity that they simply spend kissing. Zafar could spend eons kissing her like this. But she begins to get restless, her energy coming back, her fingers pulling at his hair again, her hips arching up, seeking the friction and heat from his body. And when his body comes down to lay against hers, the mere brush of her skin against his cock is so strong it’s almost painful.

He forgot how achingly hard he was.

But Roop is starting to drip wet again, he can feel it against him, and it is too delicious not to do anything about, and she seems to feel the same way, but then she’s pushing him off her and searching through a side table for something. It only takes a few moments before she sits back up with a latex wrapper and a small jar of what appears to be clear jelly. She puts the latex aside, but places the jar in Zafar’s hands.

“I just…” She wraps her hands around his own where they hold the jar, looks at them, takes a breath. “I need you to stretch me, just a little, just in case.” And then she sighs in relief, lying back against the pillows and getting comfortable. Zafar shifts backwards a little bit as she spreads her legs, but he simply holds the jar in his hands in complete confusion, unsure of what he’s supposed to do with it. So when he doesn’t move, she squints at him and sits back up. Carefully, she opens the jar and pours some of the jelly onto his fingers, massaging it around. He hisses at the cold, and she chuckles, leaning in closer.

“You’re going to put these inside me,” she whispers in his ear, and Zafar’s stomach gets tight. She grins, leaning back slowly and lying back down. Zafar follows, drawn to her, bracing himself on one arm at the side of her head. Roop spreads her legs again and lifts her knees, and Zafar takes a short moment to marvel at the stickiness of his fingers before finding her opening. She grabs his wrist before he can do anything else.

“You really have to listen to me this time,” she says, looking at him with intense eyes. He lets out a breathy laugh and nods.

“Of course, madam.”

“Zafar, I mean it.” Her voice wavers just a bit, and he realizes she is scared. She’s never done this before, either. This is all new to her, too. They are learning and figuring this out together. They have been this whole time, making it up as they go along. He understands perfectly, and when her eyes go wide, he strokes her hair gently and kisses her forehead.

“I promise I will be gentle,” he says in the smallest of whispers. “I promise I will do everything you say, to the letter. I swear I won’t hurt you.”

Roop’s eyes fall closed as she lets his words wash over her. She breathes deeply and smiles, opening her eyes to meet his and presses against Zafar’s fingers.

“One at a time,” she breathes. And he carefully presses the tip of his pointer finger in.

She sucks in another sharp breath and he stops, but she lets it out slow, and he can feel her muscles relaxing around him. His fingers twitch subconsciously, and Zafar practically holds his breath as he waits for her to allow him to keep moving. It doesn’t take long before she lets him, sliding all the way in. He stops, giving her room to adjust, even as he experimentally twirls his finger. She hisses again, but groans, and he keeps going, bending his finger, sliding in a second one when she gives him permission.

His tongue must have done most of the work. It feels like seconds before he has three fingers sliding in and out of her and she is a pool of desire and moans and pleasure underneath him. Her body moves in time with him, crying out so loud that someone has to be able to hear, they can’t keep getting away with this. Eventually, she presses a hand to his wrist, and he stops, carefully sliding his fingers out of her. He holds them up, sticky and a little gross, before she gives him the okay to wipe his hands on her bedspread, even if he feels guilty doing it.

Roop hands him the latex wrapper. A condom. This he’s seen before, and knows more about, knows he has to put it on to prevent Roop from getting pregnant. He sits up, carefully opens the package and pulls it out but fumbles as he tries to put it on. And then Roop is up, guiding him with a gentle hand, and Zafar is still so sensitive and so hard that it takes all of his strength not to thrust up into the latex as it slides down. She giggles, and he can only imagine how evident the struggle is on his face. He groans, growls, and practically attacks her back against the pillows, nipping at her jaw, and she is a loud, giggling mess. His cock accidentally brushes against her wetness, and they both shiver and moan and the air in the room immediately changes. No more distractions.

Zafar leans on his elbows on either side of his head and lines himself up just outside of her. She closes her eyes and chews on her lip, but doesn’t speak. Zafar is silent above her, breathing with her, waiting for her to tell him his next move. But she remains quiet, and the silence lasts so long that he starts to get worried.

“Madam?” he asks quietly. Nothing. For a moment, he swears he could see her lower lip shake.

“Roop?” he tries, quieter, leaning closer. She sucks in a tiny breath.

“What if something bad happens?” she says in a rush. The same wavering of her voice is back, and she opens her eyes into his, now filled with worry. “What if we’re caught? What if someone finds us, or someone finds out about us? What if...what if I bear your child?” She sounds like she might cry. She has never sounded so small. “What happens then?”

Zafar sighs, tucks her hair behind her ear, and kisses her forehead again. He speaks from the heart, without thinking.

“Then I will defend you, and our love, and our right to love and be loved, and to love each other. I will fight for you, and continue to fight for you until my last breath. And if you decide to have my child, I would be with you every step of the way. I would never leave your side for a second, I would care for you, and our child as if you were the most precious things on Earth. That’s what you are, that’s what our child would be. I would protect you with my life. I would follow you to the ends of the earth, to the darkest most gruesome corners of the world if it meant keeping you happy and safe. I would give up anything to be with you. You are my sun, my moon, my stars, my whole world, my everything, my love, I can’t live without you. I love you so much.”

There might be tears in her eyes. Zafar isn’t sure now if her eyes usually shine this much.

“You love me so much?” she asks in another small, broken voice, a disbelieving smile grazing her lips. “You would give all this up for me? A life alone, on the run? You would be happy?”

He smiles again. “I could be penniless and starving on the streets, and I would be happy as long as I’m with you.”

She smiles, glowing, and wraps her arms around his neck to pull him down for a deep kiss. He holds her face, streaked wet with a few fallen tears, and she whispers against his mouth, husky, desperate, emotional.

“Make love to me.”

He unwinds himself from her for just a moment, lines himself up with her entrance, and carefully pushes in.

This is not as easy of an adjustment. Roop pulls him back down close to her, against her, and runs her fingers through his hair, humming to herself, trying to breath evenly. Zafar softly kisses her cheeks, her nose, her lips in an attempt to ease her. But it takes a while before she allows him to push deeper in, and he only moves a fraction of an inch before she stops him again. He is so hard, and she is so tight and wet, that the slow pace, while he will respect it, is driving him insane. And Roop can tell--anyone with a brain would be able to tell from the way his muscles are quivering.

“You can’t orgasm until I tell you,” she says suddenly, breathy but firm. “Okay?” Zafar lets out a slow breath.

“Yes, madam.”

She breathes out and lets him move in a little deeper.

It’s painful, the pace, how achingly slow it is, but Zafar keeps telling himself that Roop’s comfort is the most important thing. So he manages, lets her breath wash over him as he moves deeper, eventually as far as he can go. This is where he stays, but he doesn’t mind--Roop’s fingers are still brushing through his hair, running along his back. Eventually, she shifts her hips and groans, and Zafar takes the signal to move.

Again, it’s painfully slow, sliding out and back in. But she responds better this time--still sharp intakes of breath, but small noises of pleasure, as if she is a bit surprised and confused by what she’s feeling. He tries it again, and her pleasure sounds stronger, more sure of itself and its place. He does it once more, a bit faster, and something overtakes her. She’s all desire, all-consuming, all hands in his hair, legs around his hips, pulling him closer.

“More,” she whispers, and Zafar is all too happy to give it to her.

His hips find a rhythm, a steady roll, and she matches it almost perfectly, her breathing loud in his ear. His pleasure comes in like the seaside, ebbing and flowing, building up to a high, a crash against the shore. But he keeps himself steady, groaning into Roop’s neck, biting at her shoulder. He bends a bit, shifting the angle, and suddenly Roop is crying out louder, nearly screaming.

“There!” she shouts. “There, oh god, right there, please, again, again.”

He does, a harder thrust than before, and she cries out a resounding “yes!” and Zafar lets out a ragged breath and picks up his pace. He latches onto her, hands in her hair, on her skin, arms around her, kissing and biting more marks into her neck. Her nails claw his back, her teeth drag along his jaw, his earlobe, and Zafar nearly crumbles.

“That’s my good boy,” she sighs into his ear, husky. “My sweet boy, so good for me, so perfect.” It’s the most tantalizing, seductive thing she’s said all night, dipped in sugar and coated in chili powder. Zafar is right there on the edge, bound to tumble over any second.

“Please, madam,” he huffs into her neck. “I need to...I don’t think I can for much longer.”

“Yes you can,” she encourages, right in his ear. “I know you can.” Another moan. “For me. Just a little bit longer. Do it for me. You can hold on for me.”

He tries, but the pressure is so much and building up so quickly that he might not be able to.

“Madam, please,” he begs, voice high and whining. “Let me. I can’t. Please, madam, oh god,  _ please _ .”

“Almost,” she says, but it’s so tiny against the ringing in his ears that he almost doesn’t register it. “A little bit.” He can feel her tightening up too, her sounds higher, quieter, and he knows she’s right there.

“I love you, Zafar.” Again, it’s so quiet, but this hits in the heart, and it’s the only sound in the world.

“I love you, Roop.” He might cry, the feeling is so intense. And everything is so quiet for just a moment before something rips from deep inside her, animalistic, like a wall tumbling down.

“Ohhhhhhhhh, come for me,” she orders in his ear. “Come for me, Zafar, oh god, please yes, Zafar.” And he is gone, shaking as the pressure is released into her, but he is still going, moving frantically inside her, moaning her name into her neck. She is loud, clawing into his back, arching up into him, desperate for more when her pleasure is already spilling over and out of her. She can feel him twitching, pulsing inside of her, and it only makes her orgasm that much stronger, and in turn, he holds her tighter, pounds into her with everything he has. It’s an avalanche, a tsunami, a thunderstorm, the ultimate explosion of their desire, the ultimate connection between them.

Eventually, the pleasure gives way to exhaustion, and the hard thrusts transition to steady, slow rolls, which stop before they even realized they’ve finished. Their bodies are covered with sweat, and in a daze, Zafar lifts his head to press his forehead against hers. They smile dumbly, and Roop laughs, a little delirious. Zafar, however, doesn’t know how he managed to even lift his head, because when Roop shifts her hips in discomfort and Zafar tries to pull out, it’s as if he doesn’t have any muscles at all, pushing himself up above her body is nearly impossible. It takes all the strength he has to pull off the condom, tie it, and haphazardly toss it to the side. In the process, Roop whines at the emptiness she now feels, but takes off her necklace and quickly throws it on the side table. It’s almost as if she knew Zafar would immediately collapse back against her, face in her neck.

She holds him steadfast, one hand on his back, around to touch his shoulder, his arm, the other stroking his face, running through his hair. He pillows his head on her chest, tucking it under her chin, one hand loosely holding her wrist close to his face. Her lips just barely graze his hairline, and he stays here, basking in her warmth and the steady rise and fall of her chest. The sweat is quickly drying on both of their bodies, and she smells like sex and roses and dried fruit, and Zafar is dizzy, almost faint.

“Thank you,” he whispers, drawn out long. For letting him come, for letting him love her like this, for letting him be here, for everything she’s ever done for him. He can’t pinpoint anything specific, his mind is foggy. She combs her fingers through his hair again and kisses his forehead, and he hums in delight.

“Thank  _ you _ ,” she says against his hair. “My sweet, perfect, wonderful boy. You were so good tonight, so wonderful for me, so perfect, I love you so much.”

Zafar smiles at the praise, hazy, loopy with happiness. Her words drift in and out of his brain, sounding more present and coherent than he feels, and he sinks deep into it.

“I love you always. I have always loved you. I will always love you. No matter what happens. If someone walked through that door right now, I would defend you and protect you and fight for you just like you would for me. But I would stay here and keep you close and keep you safe. You deserve to be safe, and warm, and happy, and loved. You deserve love, Zafar. Not just because of how good you were for me tonight, but because of how good you are always. To me, to my family, you are kind and thoughtful and considerate, not because you have to be, but because you want to be. You are more than just a servant, you are a person. You are my person. I don’t know what I did to deserve your love, but I am grateful for it, and I thank God every day that I have it, that I am the one who has your heart. Because I swear, Zafar, I will protect your heart with my life, I will never do anything to hurt you as long as I live. And I will marry you. Someday, somehow, we will be together for real, and I will marry you, and I will get to call you mine, and you will get to call me yours. Because that’s what you are, that’s what we are. You are mine, yes, but I am yours, I am honored to be yours, I always have been yours, and I always will be, through anything and everything, as long as you will let me.”

It’s not quite sleep, somewhere in between. His world is her arms, her words, her scent. His eyes stay closed as he floats on the sound of her voice, a dreamy smile plastered on his face. This state of being, this space he’s in, is heaven, it must be. Nothing can be more perfect than this.

But something strikes him, one single thought sitting in his head, on a continuous loop. He loves her. And she loves him just has much. He is hers. And she is his just as much.

He’s never had something of his own before. And for it to be her feels holy.

“Mine,” he whispers into the darkness. She can feel him smile against his skin, and she kisses his forehead again.

“Yours,” she returns. “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kalank deserved better. So did Zafar.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading.


End file.
